The Hearts of Camelot Collection
by LadyHeatherlly
Summary: A collection based on a special challenge over at The Heart of Camelot, featuring a brief chapter based on 10 different Merlin characters. The purpose of this challenge is to explore a moment on the show where each character's actions really stood out in a positive way.
1. Merlin

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Merlin  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Word Count:** 365  
**Summary:** Set during 2x09, when Merlin risks his life in order to help an unknown Druid girl. I've always had a great deal of respect for his kindness and compassion, and the truth he always recognizes in others. I think this episode was a perfect example of those qualities.

* * *

One look at the bedraggled young woman shackled helplessly in the back of the bounty hunter's wagon was all it took for Merlin to decide he would do everything in his power to help her. Nothing else registered in his mind; not Gaius' stern warning, nor the very real threat to his own safety if he were caught assisting a magic user who was already condemned to die by the king's decree.

All that mattered was the loneliness reflecting back at him from those innocent eyes; a palpable isolation that called out to him like a scream in the quiet night.

_She's just like me_, he realized in amazement, understanding the truth that lay within her soul before he'd ever even learned her name. _Forced to live a life of secrecy and shame for no other crime than being herself. I can't let her suffer even more than she already has, no matter what Gaius says. I can't..._

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," he told her gently, as she shrank back against the bars and stared at him uncertainly. "Tospringe!"

And as the cage broke open, it felt as if the freedom he sought for her were also his own. He heard the murmur of destiny in his ear, promising that this was a tiny step forward upon his path to stand beside Arthur and create a better world, where those who were gifted with magic would no longer have to hide in the shadows in fear for their very lives.

Merlin made no attempt to conceal his powers as he hovered a hand over the shackles that bit cruelly into the girl's delicate wrists. "Unspene þás mægþ!" he murmured quietly, glorying in how natural it felt to reveal himself without meeting even a trace of judgment in the soft, dark eyes that looked upon him with sudden faith.

When they joined hands and fled into the darkness together, it was not only immediate safety they were seeking in their hearts. Deep within their souls also lay the hope for a brighter future, where no magic user would ever have to suffer from unjust persecution again.


	2. Arthur

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Arthur  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Word Count:** 450  
**Summary:** Set during 1x11, when Arthur is faced with the difficult decision of passing judgment upon a man who has been caught stealing for a noble purpose.

* * *

"I see you think you can help yourself to our grain reserves," Arthur said sternly. "My father has ordered that looters be executed."

The man named Evan cowered before him in the dim cellar, visibly trembling as he clutched the small sack so tightly in his dirty hand that his knuckles turned white. His eyes were filled with unmistakable fear, but even stronger than that was the sheer desperation that marked every line of his simple, honest face.

"Please, my lord," he begged humbly. "I-I do not steal for myself. I have three children. They have not eaten for two days. They are hungry."

"It's the same for everyone," Arthur replied shortly, fighting back a rush of sympathy for the frightened peasant as he tried to remind himself of what his father would have to say on the subject.

"I-I know that it is wrong to steal," Evan said apologetically, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I couldn't bear to see them starve."

Arthur took a deep breath, hating the taste of the cruel words in his mouth as he spoke. "And could you bear for your children to see you be executed?"

"You mustn't allow personal feelings to affect your judgment, Arthur," Uther's stern voice echoed in his conflicted mind. "The law is the law. You cannot make exceptions for any man, no matter _what_ the circumstances might be."

_How is **that** justice?_ Arthur asked himself, feeling a sharp stab of resentment towards the king and his uncompromising decrees. _This man is no criminal. He's not a thief who seeks to increase his fortunes at the expense of others. Why should I punish him as if he were? He's only struggling to feed his family in the middle of a famine. Can I honestly say that I wouldn't do the same in his position?_

The prince studied the man as he stood there shivering in his simple homespun, taking in the weathered face and calloused hands that marked a lifetime of honest labor. "Then you should go home," he said firmly, feeling a great deal of relief as his own judgment rose to silence any lingering thought of Uther's disapproval. "If you're caught stealing again, I will not spare you."

Evan thanked him profusely, setting the bag respectfully at his feet before turning to leave.

Arthur leaned down, picturing three small, hungry faces waiting anxiously for their father's return as he lifted the sack of grain. "Wait!" he called, tossing it lightly to the man who had stolen it. "Use it sparingly," he said gently. "It might be the last food you and your family get for some time."


	3. Guinevere

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Guinevere  
**Rating/Warnings:** K+  
**Word Count:** 423  
**Summary:** What I love most about Gwen is that she has such a strong sense of right and wrong, yet at the same time, she's incredibly practical. She almost always chooses the wisest approach, not allowing herself to be ruled by her immediate emotional reactions.

This is set during Episode 3x12.

* * *

"You know I've always been loyal to you, Morgana."

The words echoed in Gwen's mind as she lay staring at the full moon outside her window, just as she'd done countless times in the past. Everything was much the same as it had always been; the narrow, yet comfortable bed she'd slept in for years beyond counting, the familiar scents of fresh baked bread and clean laundry that had filled her  
home for as long as she could remember.

This was Camelot, and it was as much a part of her being as the heart that beat steadily within her chest, the air that filled her lungs, the water that gave her life. Camelot was home.

"You know I've always been loyal to you..."

This was familiar, too, the words that signified truths she'd always taken for granted. Camelot had always been filled with lifelong bonds that were so strong she'd never have thought she'd have a reason to question them.

Of course, that had been before everything had changed.

If Gwen stood by her words, perhaps she could go on pretending it was all the same. Maybe she'd be able to find the same comfort in Morgana's smile as she always had, pushing down the knowledge that it now signified something far more sinister than the simple affection of a friend.

If she tried very hard, maybe she could still hear the sound of night birds singing, the soft, gentle laughter of young lovers as they strolled through the streets of Camelot during those warm, sultry nights. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to fool herself into not noticing the heavy, ominous silence that now pressed in upon the sleeping city, promising untold horrors in the days to come.

Perhaps if she squinted very hard when she returned to Morgana's side, she could pretend that the men who guarded the citadel wore kind smiles and familiar red cloaks, not grim expressions and stinking black uniforms.

That would be the safe way, the easy way.

But it would not be Gwen's way.

Everything was different now, and she she knew she couldn't fool herself into pretending otherwise, even if she'd wanted to. She'd face the truth, just as she always had, then bide her time until she could find the best possible opportunity to escape from Morgana's clutches.

And if she were killed in the effort, well, better to die as herself than to live as someone else.


	4. Morgana

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Morgana  
**Rating/Warnings:** K+  
**Word Count:** 503  
**Summary:** Set during Episode 4x03 "The Wicked Day." I loved the way Morgana showed genuine emotion when Uther passed, rather than cackling gleefully like a one-dimensional villain would have done. Those few seconds added a great deal of depth to her character for me.

* * *

She felt it deep in her soul in the instant that it happened. It was a subtle change, no more noticeable than a single candle flame sputtering out in a chamber filled with dozens of burning pillars. But when the king, her father, gasped his last breath and grew still, Morgana knew that her world would be forever cast in a dimmer light.

Despite her stubborn resistance to the idea, she couldn't help wondering what he'd been thinking in his final moments. Had she crossed his mind at all? And if so, what had been his last vision of her? Had he seen the bright eyed little girl who had adored him with all the devotion she'd possessed in her innocent young heart? Or had she invaded upon the dying man's reflections as the bitter woman who had usurped his throne and broken his spirit with what he'd seen as betrayal, treachery, even madness?

Maybe, like herself, he'd struggled to reconcile both parts: hatred and love, tenderness and revulsion, self-righteousness and the deepest regret.

"You brought it on yourself, Uther," she muttered in a low, monotone voice, as a single tear trickled down her colorless cheek. "You brought it on yourself."

Morgana chanted the wavering conviction with mindless repetition, never hearing the words pass from her lips as the images assaulted her grief stricken thoughts. Uther, holding her safe in his arms as he comforted her in the wake of some savage nightmare. Uther, ordering her to be dragged away in chains for defying him, tossing her in a cold dungeon cell with iron manacles biting into the skin of her delicate wrists. Uther, casting her an adoring smile, as he confessed his fatherly affection.

And then finally, Uther, cursing everything she was and ever _would_ be throughout every day of his life, hellbent on slaughtering her kind like helpless animals.

"You brought it on yourself..."

Suddenly, it occurred to her that he'd probably elected not to waste those last precious seconds on her at all, when he'd had Arthur to think about. Arthur, always Arthur, the golden beacon of their father's greatest hopes, leaving Morgana to linger in shadows and in shame.

_Kill the Druids, Arthur!"_

_"Magic is a vile plague upon this kingdom, my son. You must show no mercy to anyone found to be guilty of sorcery!"_

_"The boy must die! The witch must burn! Destroy them all!"_

Morgana began to tremble violently, as the King's sonorous voice seemed to shake the very walls of her tiny hovel.

"You brought it on yourself," she responded to the phantom echoes of hatred, fear, cruelty and lies that had haunted her every waking moment for too many years to count. "You brought it on yourself."

Only this time, there was no longer even the faintest trace of uncertainty in the bitter words, as her pale lips curled into a hard, joyless smile.

At long last, she was free.


	5. Gaius

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Gaius  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Word Count:** 393  
**Summary:** I struggled when trying to pick one specific moment on the show that really made me see Gaius in a positive light. Whether giving good advice or bad, stepping in where absolutely necessary, or being far too overprotective, there is one driving force between every interaction he has with Merlin. **Love**.  
This response is a tribute to that bond.

* * *

Throughout the years, Gaius had learned to anticipate Merlin's reaction to his predictable cautionary remarks and well intended warnings. It was palpable, the impatience that laced the young man's replies, the resentment without malice in his stubborn nature. Gaius understood it all, from the frustrated defiance in the unyielding set of Merlin's jaw, to the vulnerable, hurt expression in his deep blue eyes when he felt that his guardian did not trust his judgment.

How could he possibly explain it to the boy? He could have chalked it up to youth in the beginning, treating it as a simple matter of inexperience as to why he felt the need to interfere so much. But as Merlin became a man, and Gaius was presented with one example after another of his growing wisdom, that seemed like less and less of a valid excuse for his constant hovering.

Gaius tried to let go as the years went by, to stand back and allow Merlin to make his own decisions. But it seemed like the more the young man showed himself perfectly capable of doing so, the stronger the instinct became to hold on for dear life.

Why? Gaius wasn't quite sure. Merlin was like a son to him, the person he loved above all things, and it was only natural that he felt the need to protect him whenever possible. But why did that desire grow ever more pressing, not less so?

Perhaps the answer was simple: what place would he have in Merlin's life when he was no longer needed? How could he face becoming irrelevant to the one person who truly mattered to him? What would he do with himself when Merlin was no longer there to depend on him for a hot meal or a bit of wise counsel?

Gaius felt that day swiftly approaching, and it was with a great deal of dread that he looked to the future. Still, he knew that when the time came, he would step back and let Merlin seek his own destiny, no matter how painful it might be to do so.

"But not yet," he whispered to himself as he reached out to touch the young man's sleeping face, still so soft and innocent despite all of the horrors he'd already borne witness to.

"Not yet."


	6. Uther

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Uther  
**Rating/Warnings:** K+  
**Word Count:** 423  
**Summary:** Set immediately after Episode 3x12. Uther reaps what he has sown, and comes out on the other side as a broken, yet more compassionate man.

* * *

Uther stared intently at the words that were crudely scrawled into the stone walls of his drab, gray dungeon cell.

"Magic is not a crime."

Who had carved the final, desperate conviction that had held such little hope of prevailing against his own? A Druid? A witch? A sorcerer? Had it been burning or beheading that had silenced their voice forever, or had they been one of the lucky few who had slipped past the guards and escaped his clutches?

For the briefest moment, Uther found himself hoping they had lived. Why? He couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was because for the first time in his life, he was learning what it meant to be imprisoned; cold, hungry, frightened and utterly alone, as he awaited the final judgment of a capricious ruler with a heart full of hatred.

Discomforting though it was, even the deepest loathing for all those who practiced sorcery was no longer quite enough to silence the sharp pangs of empathy that crept into his bewildered mind.

"King Uther is an unfeeling tyrant."

These words were faded, barely legible against the eroded rock surface, but he understood them nonetheless. How many years had they been there? Why had he never thought to order his workmen to check for such vile messages, then to smooth out the wall wherever they might appear?

He knew why. The dungeons had been a place to stash prisoners safely out of sight until their final judgment came to pass; nothing more. Never had the king spared so much as a single thought as to what it might be like to find oneself entrapped within these cells, of how terribly the countless people he'd condemned must have suffered as they'd awaited their deaths.

But now, he understood the enormity of the anguish he had caused over the years. It wasn't in the swing of the executioner's axe, bringing about a swift and merciful end. No, imprisonment was the _real_ killer... the meager food, the hard, cold floor, the endless hours of solitude, and the unbearable silence.

Uther still couldn't quite relinquish the belief that those he'd sentenced so harshly had deserved to die. But the heartbroken, vulnerable man who was just beginning to emerge from beneath the facade of an uncompromising ruler couldn't help but feel for their plight.

His trembling hand reached for a small piece of jagged rock, and then he painstakingly carved a message of his own.

"I'm sorry."


	7. Lancelot

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Lancelot  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Word Count:** 528  
**Summary:** Above all else, the quality I admire most in Lancelot is that he accepts the people he loves just the way they are.

* * *

Sometimes, Sir Lancelot found it _enormously_ difficult to keep quiet about the secret that had been entrusted to him all those years before, when Merlin had helped him slay the Gryphon.

It was hard when his fellow knights dismissed the wise and powerful man _he_ knew as nothing more than an unusually loyal servant. Indeed, they treated him with kindness and respect, but it frustrated him that they never saw anything beyond efficiency and a goofy smile.

But Arthur... Arthur was the _worst_. Lancelot respected the prince as a fearless warrior, admired him as a steadfast friend, and placed all his hopes in him as a fair and just ruler who would bring peace and prosperity to the realm when he finally became king.

That didn't mean that there weren't times when he could have cheerfully throttled the man.

_How can he not see?_ he would ask himself again and again. _How can he call him an idiot, and a coward, even if he's only joking? How can he treat him the way he does, when Merlin has done so much on his behalf?_

Of course, Arthur didn't exactly _know _how far Merlin had gone to protect him countless times in the past, but it seemed to Lancelot that there should be more than enough cause for Arthur to at least recognize the courageous heart and devotion with which Merlin served him day after day, year after year. How could any man be so blind?

Sometimes, Lancelot wanted to shout aloud, revealing all the things that had never been hidden from his eyes. He wanted to make all of them see just how much Merlin was worth, and how cruelly unjust it was that he was forced to live an existence where he was forever treated as less than he was.

And yet, he could not. He must remain silent, even when his friend's crestfallen face in the wake of some brutal jab pained him to the core. He couldn't breathe a word of the secret he knew, for the very thing that made Merlin who he was could easily place him in grave danger if it came to light before Arthur had moved far enough beyond his father's foolish prejudices to understand the truth.

Most of all, he had to keep it to himself because he had sworn a vow to do so.

Lancelot couldn't force the others to give Merlin the recognition and acceptance that he deserved, but in the meantime, he was grateful that he at least had the privilege to understand who his friend truly was behind the façade.

Whenever they were away from watching eyes, Lancelot always managed to come up with some small dilemma that required a magical solution. The wood was too damp to catch fire, or perhaps he found himself unable to open the armoire in his chamber, conveniently forgetting to mention that the key was hidden in his pocket.

And when Merlin would utter the necessary spell aloud and without fear, then look to him with a face filled with proud satisfaction, Lancelot would always feel warm inside.


	8. Gwaine

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Gwaine  
**Rating/Warnings:** K+  
**Word Count:** 390  
**Summary:** Set during Episode 3x04.

* * *

Gwaine didn't _have_ to stay in Camelot, nor was it necessary for him to risk his own neck to protect a man he wasn't sure he even liked. _Respected_, yes... he certainly thought more of Arthur after the way he'd stood up to his father, the king, where every other noble Gwaine had ever met would have turned a blind eye where a commoner was concerned.

Arthur had insisted upon treating him fairly, regardless of the humble origins he'd wrongly assumed, and for that, Gwaine was certainly willing to judge him less harshly than others of his kind.

But was he _fond_ of the man? _Not particularly_, he admitted to himself, recalling Arthur's rather extreme reaction to the bill he'd rung up at the tavern. The Pendragons must have more gold than they knew what to do with; surely the cost of a few drinks and a little something to snack on wouldn't place any hardship upon them?

Gwaine conveniently chose to ignore the fact that he'd provided those refreshments to the entire crowd of drunken revelers.

No, his reluctant gratitude towards Arthur definitely wasn't what made his decision to stay such an easy one. That had to be credited to Merlin, who had shown him kindness, understanding, and true friendship throughout the short time they'd known each other. Merlin, who asked for nothing, yet gave so much in return.

Concern for Merlin was why Gwaine had obediently polished boots for nine hours straight, for if he _hadn't_ realized his innocent friend would have been stuck with the work either way, he would have gladly told the arrogant prince _exactly_ what he could do with the army's bloody footwear.

And if he didn't know Merlin would be devastated (for some inexplicable reason) if anything bad happened to Arthur, he'd certainly have been a little more hesitant to risk his life in the melee. He knew he probably would have gone ahead and done it anyway, but the threat of death, either by execution or a blade to the gut, would've been met with a lot less enthusiasm.

Merlin wasn't the only factor as to why Gwaine decided to stay in Camelot, but his respect and growing affection for his unassuming new friend was the reason he did so with a smile upon his face.


	9. Iseldir

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Iseldir  
**Rating/Warnings:** K+  
**Word Count:** 545  
**Summary: **Iseldir shows what it truly means to be a Druid.

* * *

Without a flicker of doubt, Iseldir ordered his fellow Druids to carry the nearly lifeless body back to their secret sanctuary.

It didn't matter that the man with the honey colored curls served under Uther, an implacable tyrant who was responsible for the wanton destruction of so many of their kind. The Druids didn't stop to think about the risk involved in attempting to restore the swiftly dwindling life of the fallen Knight of Camelot.

How could they, when it was life itself they valued above all things?

As the melodious chanting began in the recesses of the warm, fragrant cave, it flowed through Iseldir's veins like an intoxicating draught. It was the music of the Earth itself, the gentle, everlasting whispers that spoke of the cycle of life and death that existed in all things.

Iseldir might have convinced himself that they were merely assisting the young knight as a gesture of faith; after all, the Druids were eager to help smooth the path for the more just world that might be possible in the hands of the sorcerer Emrys and the younger Pendragon he served. But in his heart, he knew it was about something so much deeper than that.

Just as some were born to be destroyers of their fellow men, others existed to restore life wherever it was possible to do so. It was the way the balance of the earth remained intact, and could not be avoided, no more than one could hope to prevent the day from fading into night, or the moon from submitting to the sun's power when it was his turn to shine.

Iseldir had always pitied the magic fearing King for his strange, foolish belief that he could eradicate all things mystical from existence. No, magic was in everything, soil and sunlight, rainfall and the gentle, whispering breeze. Magic was the earth itself, and it was the only foe that no man, no matter how powerful, could ever hope to conquer.

The Druid leader had never felt hatred toward the King for his actions, despite how deeply he grieved for his fallen brothers and sisters. Uther had condemned himself more than any other, and it was a bitter, thankless path he'd chosen to tread. How was it possible to despise _anyone_ who had willingly chosen suffering over happiness, committing himself to a life of fear and ignorance, rather than embracing love and understanding?

Despite the shared realization that using the Cup of Life could easily bring about their downfall, Iseldir saw the same expression of quiet satisfaction on the faces of his fellow Druids as the injured man drew a deep, shuddering breath and slowly opened his eyes.

"Welcome back," Iseldir murmured, his voice filled with gentle sincerity.

Uther would _never_ understand; fate couldn't be conquered, outlawed or prevented. It was the destiny of the Druid people to heal what had been broken, to care for any man, woman or child who needed their assistance. No laws or decrees could suppress those instincts, no fear of retribution could hold them at bay.

And, come what may, Iseldir knew he would never regret restoring life to the unknown young knight with the gentle, honest face.


	10. Nimueh

**Written for our special challenge: "The Hearts of Camelot"**

**Featured Character:** Nimueh  
**Rating/Warnings:** T for depictions of violence  
**Word Count:** 600  
**Summary:** I don't necessarily condone Nimueh's actions, but I do understand and sympathize with the reasons behind them. Set during Series 1.  
**Author's Note:** This turned out to be a companion piece to the previous entry about Iseldir, showing two _very_ different perspectives in reaction to the war against magic.

* * *

To Whom It May Concern,

Contrary to popular belief, I don't _enjoy_ hurting anyone.

Well, that's not exactly true. If my sometimes questionable actions have caused that miserable hypocrite who calls himself King to suffer, it's impossible to deny the deep satisfaction I feel in the wake of that.

But you must understand: I am not evil. Even after the unimaginable cruelty I've seen, and everything I've done in retribution for those injustices, there's still tenderness in my heart. I feel love as deeply as I ever did; more so, now that I no longer have the option of taking those who were dearest to me for granted.

How can I? All of them are dead... destroyed by _his_ hand.

Before you judge me too harshly for the destruction I intend to bring about, ask yourself how you'd feel in my place. Look into your heart and consider how _you'd_ cope with feeling powerless while everyone you'd ever loved was cruelly slaughtered.

Imagine being unable to close your eyes without seeing their anguished faces, your every dream haunted by their tormented screams as they burned alive before a jeering crowd. Hear them weeping piteously, pleading for salvation as they awaited the executioner's axe.

Think of their innocent, terrified expressions: not just men and women, but children and the elderly, too. Burned, beheaded, drowned, shot down by arrows, or met with a blade to the gut, all to satisfy one man's senseless lust for vengeance.

Now, imagine yourself as I am, a powerful priestess, intrinsically connected with every soul that shares my gift. Experience the suffering of those you love not only with your five ordinary senses, but through a soul bond as well. Cry out at the pain that sears your flesh as a fellow priestess burns in the fires. Feel the stabbing sensation that radiates through your body as the gentle sorcerer who was your lover lies in the cold mud with a blade buried deeply in his chest.

Hear his whispered plea of "mercy," begging for a swift end that the soldiers will not give. Taste the bitterness of the curse you must mutter from afar to steal his final breath, so he'll no longer have to linger in helpless anguish.

And then, gasp for air and clutch your throat in bewildered terror, as children are plunged underwater to die for crimes they are far too young and innocent to have ever committed, and ask yourself this:

Would you have reacted any differently than I mean to do? Would you not have struck back at the man who had committed all these atrocities against the people you loved, even if your own actions were somewhat questionable in the process? Can you tell me it is truly evil to bring death to one, if it prevents the suffering of countless others?

Nameless reader, you _must_ know that if there had been any other option left open to me, I would've taken it. Uther has left me no choice; I've waited 20 long years for his mad lust for revenge to pass, and I can bear it no more.

Tomorrow, his precious son must die. Perhaps it is a fitting end; after all, these terrible atrocities would have never happened if the young prince hadn't been born. His life was purchased with blood, tears, and death, a heavy price that has been extracted from my kind a thousand times over, and then some.

It is time for that debt to be repaid.

Nimueh


End file.
